


Where Your Mouth Is

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22003468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: In which two idiots call each other's bluffs.Completed!Taking requests and fic prompts!Sequel here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603884
Relationships: Aladdin/Mozenrath (Disney)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

“I hope you’re taking this seriously Mozenrath, otherwise, the deal is off.”  
The aforementioned sorcerer snarled his reply.  
“Oh I intend to get my gauntlet back, hero, and you’re going to be the one to give it to me.”  
Aladdin jabbed a finger at him accusingly as the quarrelsome pair walked through the high city gates, sparing only a glance at the name – Getzistan – etched proudly in gaudy script across stone.  
“Only after you help me save Jasmine.”  
Mozeranth rolled his eyes dismissively.  
“Of course, who could forget about the peril-prone piteous princess?”  
“This isn’t funny, Mozenrath, she could be seriously hurt!”  
Mozenrath rose his hands in mock surrender. “The only thing that’s going to be hurt is the ears of any man at the receiving end of her shrieking.” He saw the continued argument and blocked it with a question.  
“So why exactly can’t you storm in with Genie a’blazin as per usual and take her back yourself?”  
He leaned closer, peering with a smile as Aladdin struggled to respond.  
“Well, it’s complicated. When Jasmine and I were investigating the underground slave trade in Getzistan, we weren’t exactly…upfront about it with their ruler.”  
“So you were sneaking around, typical.”  
Aladdin ignored him, pressing on, “We didn’t know how high the corruption went, and thought we could handle it ourselves, quietly. And you know Genie, he doesn’t do quietly.” He pressed on before the ugly comment on Mozenrath’s lips could be voiced. “When Jasmine went missing during our mission, and I, I-I couldn’t find her, I knew I had to tell the Sultan. His committee demanded we handle this delicately, in-and-out, without alerting Getzistan’s king of anything if possible to avoid any insult or even war.” He said the last part bitterly and Mozenrath couldn’t resist digging in.  
“I have to be honest, hero, letting some pampered bureaucrats tell you how to save your wife seems a little, well un-heroic.” He smiled, slick as oil. He was surprised when Aladdin smiled somewhat self-depreciatingly himself.  
“I guess I have to be honest, too, Mozenrath. I don’t think I’d have anyone else go with me to save her besides you.”  
“Why, Aladdin, you flatter me.”  
Aladdin pretended not to notice the mocking pantomime and continued.  
“I need someone who knows the underbelly of the city, who is familiar with the seedier, criminal places”  
“Else.”  
“What?”  
“Someone else who knows the seedier, criminal places” Mozenrath replied with an acrid smile.  
“Yeah, yeah, very clever Mozenrath. Let’s just focus, okay?”  
Easier said than done, Mozenrath thought bitterly. The afternoon sun blaring down from an unsmiling heaven coupled with the longing ache in his skeletal arm set him on edge, made this little venture tedious to the point of painful. Add to that the noise and push of one of the busiest dens of sin in the desert, and Mozenrath was practically frothing to get back his gauntlet, stolen, of course, from the wonder troupe and whisked away far from his scheming and needful clutches.  
A simple rescue mission, even for someone distasteful, will be difficult without his traditional means of magic, but, with a knowing pat at the inside of his robes, Mozenrath assured himself he was still quite the formidable sorcerer.  
Aladdin led them deeper, past the more touristy areas of the city, past the residences and food markets, where the crowd thinned from families to men in raucous groups who shambled sideways from alley to alley.  
Mozenrath grabbed Aladdin’s arm and pulled him to a stop outside one such alley.  
“Listen, I know you’re used to bursting in and barreling through but getting any information on your little princess’s whereabouts will take tact. Remember my plan.”  
Aladdin jerked his arm free.  
“I remember, I remember” he grumbled.  
“Really? Because you’re still dressed like Agrabah’s golden boy. Also, you’re walking ahead of me; a good slave walks behind. We’re never going to pass for a buyer and his slave if you can’t put your precious ego aside.”  
“Don’t lecture me on ego, you-”  
He was cut off his indignant tirade when Mozenrath shoved a bundle into his arms.  
“I knew you’d compromise this somehow, so I procured an outfit befitting a slave for you. You’re welcome. Now change, I’ll watch the alley.”  
With a momentary pause and a dark look, Aladdin retreated back into the alleyway.  
Mozenrath congratulated himself on his own attire – the finest indigo and gold embroidered robes with his satin turban. He looked every inch the wealthy proprietor or mogul looking to buy some human labor or ornamentation. For himself, he preferred dead slaves – much less hassle.  
“Explain to me one more time why I have to be the slave?” came an exasperated comment from the shadows behind him.  
“Are you serious? Have you seen yourself? Have you seen me?” Mozenrath laughed unkindly.  
Whatever comment Aladdin was planning on rejoinding with was lost to Mozenrath as Aladdin emerged from the alley in his own new attire.  
Gone was the tatty vest, pants, and fez combo and in its place was a gauzy, maroon number that frankly insulted the imagination. The top was in half with bell sleeves, transparent and fitted at the wrists with gold bracelets. The pants were loose and extremely low-slung, barely clinging to cut, revealed hipbones and ended in soft, beaten velvet gold slippers. Around that narrow waist was a thin gold chain. The deep red shade practically purred on the healthy glow of his dark brown skin. Only one thing missing…  
“Come here.”  
No, that sounded too choked. Mozenrath made himself try again after clearing his throat.  
“Come here.”  
Aladdin glowered at being told what to do by Mozenrath, but shuffled unwillingly to stand in front of him. From his pocket, Mozenrath drew out a stick of charcoal, and after instructing an increasingly stiff and uncomfortable Aladdin to close his eyes, drew thick, smokey lines around each eye. After running a hand through the streetrat’s hair to loosen it, the ensemble was complete.  
Aladdin put his hands on his hips and eyed Mozenrath.  
“Is all this necessary? I look like a…a…”  
“Whore. Yes, that’s the idea.” He continued, ignoring Aladdin’s flinch. “The highest bidders will be concerned with one thing only – bed slaves. They will undoubtedly bring some of their own companions and we’ll need to blend in.”  
“If anyone has touched Jasmine” Aladdin glowered, his fists tensing and the muscles of his arms taut against the flimsy fabric, looking as far from a bed slave as possible.  
Mozenrath waved his hand dismissively.  
“I wouldn’t worry, hero, as ‘lovely’ as your little princess is, she is likely still stuck in the auctioning rooms. She’ll be quite the prize.”  
“She’s no one’s prize.” Aladdin insisted.  
“For once, you are correct.” He quipped in reply. “Now come, I want my gauntlet back as soon as possible so let’s get the happy little wife home, hmm?”  
So deeper into the city’s guts they strode, Aladdin mercifully remembering to walk behind Mozenrath with his eyes downturn, as instructed. Though that might be more due to his embarrassment than any acting suggestions by Mozenrath. He had to have felt his own bared skin, felt the eyes of passerbys, both interested and otherwise. Mozenrath smirked to himself at his rival’s discomfort and called back a jab.  
“Young as you are, please at least try to not look so naïve or you’ll blow the whole thing.”  
“You’d be surprised, Mozenrath, what I know. Remember, I grew up on the streets. I’m not as naïve as you think.”  
Mozenrath quirked an eyebrow, interested, and turned, but Aladdin said no more, simply meeting his eyes levelly.  
They reached the target at last, a narrow staircase, unobtrusive and nearly hidden between an opium den and a lender’s shop.  
“I don’t even want to know how you know of this place,” Aladdin muttered as they descended into the increasing shadows.  
“Amorous men are stupid men, and easier to con.” Mozenrath said with an easy shrug.  
Aladdin scoffed as they reached the door, a heavy, wooden impasse with a small slit high up in the middle. A polite knock, and Mozenrath was greeted by two piggy eyes in a ruddy face.  
“What’s the password?”  
Aladdin panicked momentarily – they didn’t even discuss that, but then rolled his eyes when Mozenrath simply blew black sand from his robes into the man’s face, who gave a yelp of alarm and then was silent.  
“The password is Mozenrath, Lord of the Black Sands.”  
“Yes, Lord Mozenrath.” The brute brainlessly intoned as the door swung open.  
Aladdin was about to make a remark on Mozenrath’s own ego when he was stopped short, Mozenrath leaning into his face.  
“Remember, under no circumstances are we to break cover. They find out who you are and they’ll whisk away your princess to lands unknown. You’ll cause a panic and lose her. Once someone purchases Jasmine, we’ll get her back and, more importantly, you’ll give me my gauntlet back.”  
“I know, I know” Aladdin replied, practically dancing in his impatience.  
“While we are here, you are my slave. Make sure you act the part. Think you can handle that?”  
A smile with canines showing in a gleaming white arc.  
Aladdin surprised him by yanking Mozenrath’s collar and bringing him further in.  
“Make sure you can handle it.”  
Mozenrath laughed, raising his eyebrows, and leaning back before turning to walk through the door, beckoning Aladdin to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

Inside, the air was clouded with smoke and the discordant noise of drums and strings, drowned out by yelling and bawdy laughter. It was a huge open space, with a stage on one end, and filled with circular tables around which were gathered men or all races and ages, but who of course shared one thing in common – visible, obvious wealth, whether on their rings, their necklaces, their finery or the amount of slinky young men and women laying across their laps.  
Mozenrath felt rather than saw Aladdihn tense from behind him but strode confidently toward a table, partially occupied by three men. Two were clear desert dwellers, with their ruddy skin and dark hair, though they differed in that one was a lean, older man while the other was a younger, portly gentleman. The third man was harder to pin as far as a home nation; he was golden skinned with flaming red hair – Grecian, perhaps? Mozenrath hardly cared, but he knew that their mission’s success rode on blending in, so he tried to get a read on them all the same.  
“Gentlemen,” he announced with signature dramatic flair, “I hope you don’t mind one more at your table?” with his cape flicked back, he cut an impressive figure. Without waiting for invitation, he sat at one of the free chairs, drawing to the table with princely grace.  
Aladdin hesitated, but after looking around the room and seeing the way the other slaves sat with their masters, dropped to his knees besides Mozenrath.  
“Of course not, my good fellow!” the portly man boomed happily, wine spilling from his proffered goblet. “What is it that they say, the more the merrier?”  
“My friend, I think you are merry enough for the rest of us.” The older man commented drily, making his auburn-headed compatriot laugh.  
Not to be put off, the inebriated of the three stuck out his fat, bejeweled hand in greeting,  
“I am Sultan Akkhar, of the red cliffs.”  
Aladdin internally sniggered watching Mozenrath struggle to repel his own disgust at the moist hand in his face, before eventually taking it lightly with a demure nod of his head.  
“Lord Mozenarth, of the Black Sands.”  
That earned a gasp and a quick withdraw of the hand from Akkhar, and a fascinated look from the other two.  
One was brave enough to gush from behind his red beard, “You are serious? The Lord Mozenrath? I am sure I speak for my fellows here when I say we have all heard tales of your kingdoms and magics.”  
Mozenrath instantly bridled a little, and asked gracefully,  
“And you are?”  
“Ah, my apologies, I am called Kadir, simply Kadir. I am no ruler like my friends here,” he said with a good-natured laugh. “Across from you is Lord Bakhir, of the northern plateaus.”  
The older man fixed Mozenrath with a stare that quickly smoothed from fear and distrust to cool civility.  
“A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Mozenrath.”  
“Is it true you have an army of the undead?” Akkhar blurted.  
Kadir admonished him.  
“Really, Akkhar, that’s hardly the kind of question I’m sure our good fellow is here to answer.”  
“No,” Bakhir said smoothly with a tip of his own cup at the stage, “The question of the night is – what’s your pleasure?”  
Akkhar seemed less fearful now at the resumed conversation and instead smiled, his eyes alighting on Aladdin.  
“Oh, I am sure I can answer that. What a tasty little morsel you have down there. Is he for sale?”  
Mozenrath’s grin at Aladdin’s reddened face moved into a possessive and patronizing hand atop Aladdin’s head.  
“Oh, I could never part with this one. I’ve grown rather attached, I’m afraid.”  
Aladdin twitched the hand off, and Mozenrath glared down, but this went unnoticed by a now pouting Akkhar.  
“Oh Akkhar, don’t look so put out. You have plenty of lovelies at home. Where is your favorite boy..what was his name? Hasan?” Kadir asked kindly.  
“Hasan is sick…again.”  
“That boy of yours is always sick. I’d get rid of him if I were you. What if he is diseased?” Bakhir commented.  
Akkhar’s face darkened, and he gripped his cup savagely.  
“He better not be”  
“I personally could not get rid of my girls. What can I say? I love each and every one of them.” Kadir said with a welcoming grin.  
“A lay is a lay, Kadir. You’re too sentimental. And if you love your girls so much, why are you here tonight to buy new ones?” Bakhir countered.  
“Why, to keep them company, of course!” Kadir answered with a laugh.  
“Really? So the rumor that a verifiable princess might be on tonight’s menu is of no interest to you?”  
Aladdin inhaled sharply, but Mozenrath held out his hand to stay him, sipping his wine and carefully choosing his next words.  
“A princess? Surely not, or Getzistan would have a war on its hands.”  
“That’s the thing,” Akkhar said in an excited whisper, “Apparently, Getzistan’s sultan doesn’t even know she’s here!”  
“And I’m assuming anyone who spoke too loudly about this would face no shortage of consequences by our hosts?” Mozenrath remarked drily, nodding towards the hired thugs positioned around the room. Akkhar shared his look and quieted but not before saying somewhat sulkily,  
“Well I’m not willing to drop the kind of money needed to buy a princess anyway – I don’t think any of us are.”  
“Speak for yourself, Akkhar”, Bakhir insisted, “My kingdom is doing quite well and a princess would make a fine jewel in my nation’s crown.”  
Mozenrath saw out of the corner of his eye how Aladdin’s fists clenched on his knees where they lay in faux-demureness. Dammit, if he kept letting his emotions get to him, they’d never 1) find the princess and 2) likely get out alive. Aladdin might rely on his fists, but Mozenrath didn’t fancy fighting his way out of this place without his gauntlet  
He decided to steer the conversation productively.  
“Gentlemen, as riveting as this conversation has been, I can’t help but wonder when the auctions will actually begin.”  
Bakhir bristled but Kadir laughed.  
“Eager aren’t we? Well from my experiences here before, it won’t be until sundown, so about what? Half an hour or a little more.”  
Great – more time to pretend he was actually equals with these fools.  
But he had gathered some good information, only Bakhir expressed interest in purchasing the princess, which left Kadir.  
“And you, Kadir was it? Are you thinking of adding a princess to your collection of beauties?”  
“Depends on what she looks like!”  
“From what I’ve heard, she’s pretty in an expected way, but with a poor attitude.” Mozenrath couldn’t help himself from commenting.  
“An attitude can be beaten out of any woman. Or boy, for that matter,” Bakhir added unkindly, pointedly at Aladdin on the ground. Mozenrath groaned internally when he saw the defiant look Aladdin gave in return.  
“Your boy is the sullen type, isn’t he?” Bakhir asked Mozenrath directly. “I hate that in a slave. It speaks of rebellion.”  
“Dim as he is, I’m sure he knows the danger of ever rebelling against me,” Mozenrath smoothed over, tightening his grip in Aladdin’s hair as a warning.  
“Don’t listen too much to Bakhir,” Kadir interrupted, “he’ll have your slaves beaten to the point of crippled, just like his.”  
“At least mine know their place” Bakhir responded stiffly.  
Akkhar poured himself another drink from the decanter on the table, and offered it to Aladdin, “If you are kind enough,” aiming his comment at Bakhir and Mozenrath, “they are kind to you. Isn’t that right, my boy?” He looked up at Mozenrath, “Can he?” and feeling like the benign ruler he’d never be, Mozenrath nodded.  
Bakhir made a sound of disgust but Kadir smiled.  
Aladdin eyed Akkhar cautiously, and went to take a sip, before Mozenrath leaned down to say with a saccharine expression,  
“Uh uh, what do we say first, Ali?”  
Aladdin grimaced briefly, then put an equally saccharine smile on his own face.  
“Thank you sir.”  
“Of course, darling. Now Mozenrath…”  
“Lord Mozenrath.”  
“Of course, Lord Mozenrath, what price would you be willing to part with this scrumptious little thing with?”  
Aladdin coughed into his cup, and Mozenrath laughed.  
“I guess it depends on the price.”  
Aladdin shot Mozenrath a nasty look, not unnoticed by a disapproving Bakhir.  
Akkhar leaned back with a grin, folding his hands over his generous belly.  
“And that depends on the merchandise. Come on boy, up! Give us a turn.”  
With withering unwillingness, Aladdin arose, his body self consciously folded around itself. Akkhar raised a meaty paw and passed it over Aladdin’s quivering stomach.  
“Hmmm…how does 100 dinars strike you, O’ Lord of the Black Sands?”  
Mozenrath snorted.  
“My wardrobe is worth more than that.”  
“Ah yes, but is your boy, your Ali?”  
With a demure sip of his wine, Mozenrath responded. “You haven’t tried his mouth.”  
Aladdin sputtered, whirling on Mozenrath with fire in his eyes. Mozenrath stared back in challenge, and Bakhir laughed critically.  
“I’d say you need to purchase a new boy, Lord Mozenrath, before this one throttles you in your sleep.”  
“Oh don’t worry, I plan to rectify his little attitude problem” and with that, Mozenrath rose swiftly, taking Aladdin rather harshly by the arm and dragging him out of earshot, to the tune of Bakhir’s hummed “Spare the rod…”  
“Do I have to beat you to prove a point?” Mozenrath hissed into Aladdin’s face.  
Aladdin responded with a snort of derision.  
“I’d like to see you try.”  
Mozenrath eyed him in irritation before leaning back, his arms crossed over his chest.  
“Why Aladdin, I’m surprised at you. You’d think you’d be fully committed to rescuing your beloved princess.”  
“I am!”  
“Then try to at least act the part of a bed slave. You said you could handle this.”  
Aladdin looked chagrined for a moment, before his face set.  
“I know, I know. Let’s go back and I’ll be different, I swear.”  
Mozenrath smirked, and flicked the chain around Aladdin’s waist.  
“Are you sure, hero?”  
With thick brows arched, chin thrown back, and wide smile a bright slash across his face, he looked every inch his forceful declaration.  
“You just watch me.”


	3. Chapter 3

“My slave has something to say to you.” Mozenrath announced as they approached the table.  
As if on cue, Aladdin dropped his head, hands folded in front of him, and mildly intoned.  
“I am sorry sirs, for my behavior. It was inexcusable.”  
Bakhir sniffed, “Must have been quite a talk.”  
“You have no idea” Mozenrath said with a warning flash of a smile, growing irate with the man and itching for his gauntlet.  
Mozenrath sat, expecting more inane small talk until the auction began and they could identify Jasmine’s buyer, follow him out, overpower him, and leave this wretched city.  
He felt uncharacteristically stumped, however, when Aladdin, instead of going to his knees besides Mozenrath, knelt to floor at Akkhar’s side, laying supinely over his knees.  
Akkhar looked up in delighted surprise, and Kadir and Bakhir both laughed.  
“Oh dear, it seems you’ve lost your boy all together!” Bakhir said in mock dismay.  
Mozenrath searched Aladdin’s face, and although a mild, sweet smile crossed his mouth, his eyes said something different.  
Your move, sorcerer.  
Deciding then, Mozenrath smoothly replied.  
“I simply ordered my obstinate little slave to be more gracious to our esteemed company.”  
“My thanks, Lord Mozenrath.” Akkhar gushed, while tilting Aladdin’s head up in his large hand. Mozernath watched carefully as Akkhar ran his thumb over the hero’s cheekbone, expecting a flinch.  
There was none.  
“My boy at home is much more fair-skinned. Your skin is like caramel.”  
“Thank you, sir.” Aladdin said from under his eyelashes, which, Mozenrath had to begrudgingly admit, were rather long and flattering now that he noticed.  
Kadir reached over to refill Mozenrath’s cup as Akkhar cooed over Aladdin.  
“I admire a man who can control his slaves with words rather than with the rod” he confessed.  
Mozenrath tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement.  
“How long have you had him?” Kadir asked politely.  
Mozenrath thought carefully about his answer.  
“A little over a year.”  
“Is he a good lay?” Akkhar asked clumsily, carding his fat fingers through Aladdin’s dark hair.  
“I wouldn’t have him otherwise,” Mozenrath answered in equally careful response.  
“Thank you, master.”  
Now it was Mozenrath’s turn to choke on his wine, which was starting to make his face warm and his head full. Or maybe that was the effect of hearing his rival call him ‘master’.  
“Ah, gentlemen, we’re in luck, they’ve provided entertainment for tonight!” Kadir exclaimed happily at the sound of the increasing drums and strings  
From behind the stage came several dancers, boys and girls, barely dressed in scarves, silks, and shams. They slunk into the crowd, gyrating and twisting to a near-tribal beat that swayed their bodies back and forth like a cobra. Around their waists were strings of chimes, which gently tinkled as they danced through the tables. One woman bent completely backwards, her arms gesticulating above her. Another rolled her hips towards one of the more impressive men in the crowd, and then danced away with a tittering laugh.  
The crowd watched, some with baited breath, some with raucous laughter or bawdy commentary. The unfortunate youth slapped across the ass merely smiled as one of the bodyguards at the edges of the building moved forward.  
Mozenrath seemed characteristically bored to any onlooker, but his compatriots at the table were enraptured, from the menacingly leering Bakhir, to the smiling and clapping Kadir, to the heavily breathing Akkhar, who subconsciously reached out to a dancing boy as he passed, before returning his hand greedily to Aladdin’s neck.  
“Here, my boy, have some more of ol’ Akkhar’s wine.”  
Aladdin tipped back the cup with some difficulty, as Akkhar moved to stroking forcefully up and down his neck.  
Akkhar watched as two fat droplets of dark red wine slipped past Aladdin’s lips and onto his revealed collar bones.  
He leaned conspiratorially towards Mozenrath, his hot breath an unwelcome lash across his face.  
“What did you say about your boy’s mouth?”  
His eyes never left the hedonistic display before him, small, bright eyes intent in their longing.  
“Well that’s not a polite question to ask.” Mozenrath replied blandly.  
The man’s face fell, but Mozenrath smiled benignly and added,  
“But if you must know, his talents are beyond your wildest dreams.”  
He of course looked downward to Aladdin on the floor to catch his reaction and noticed only that the boy had moved forward subtly, away from Akkhar’s lascivious fingers.  
Akkhar mouthed a silent reply drily, then managed.  
“200 dinars. 250.”  
Mozenrath shook his head regrettably.  
“I’m sorry, having this one under my beck and call means more to me than I suppose money ever will.” He smiled genially down at Aladdin, who responded in turn with a curious, unexpected smile of his own.  
Akkhar finally leaned back, ego assuaged as a dancing boy pranced near and allowed himself to be pulled into Akkhar’s wide lap.  
“You’re a cruel man, Lord Mozenrath.” He said with no real ill will.  
“Surely your boy cannot be too terribly extraordinary. After all, a whore’s a whore.” Bakhir commented, leaning in.  
Kadir raised his cup, ignoring the pair, to make room for a pretty maiden who draped herself across his shoulders. The music made it hard to hear, but heard him Mozenrath did, and he vowed that once the first discreet opportunity presented itself, this man would be disposed of for his impudence, acting or not.  
His need to prove himself, irrational or not, rose within him.  
“You have no idea, Bakhir,” he said, intentionally forgetting to use the honorific. He spoke to the table, now.  
“He has ripped the breath from better men than you. He has blurred the lines between life and death, dreaming and waking. He has signed away souls by making men swear they saw the face of God.”  
“Prettily put,” Bakhir said with a condescending applause, but Akkhar was enraptured, and even Kidar seemed impressed, his hand now busily worming its way under the slave girl’s top and toying with the breast he found there. Akkhar for his own indulgences groped and tickled at the boy in his lap, and temporarily forgotten, Aladdin crawled over to Mozenrath, eyes downcast in what Mozenrath smugly assumed must be a blush.  
The boy in his lap laughed and buried his neck in Akkhar’s neck from the increasingly familiar touches, and Akkhar himself grew bold on his sixth, seventh, eighth glass of wine as the half hour stretched and stretched into the chaotic half dim, heavily smelling, groaning darkness of the bidder’s room.  
“Then by all means, prove it, Mozenrath!”  
Before he could irately add, “Lord”, Kadir chimed in in agreement, gently pushing the slave girl to the floor between his legs.  
“Yes, don’t be shy, Lord Mozenrath. We are all men here. Spend yourself now and avoid buying in lust. How does the old saying go? Amorous men are stupid men.”  
“That we are!” Akkhar laughed happily, spilling wine on his young charge’s front as he attempted to pour wine into his mouth, while his hand crept underneath the waist of the boy’s skirt.  
Mozenrath thought rapidly, calculatingly. Of course, of course this was out of the question. But to refuse would be to stand out. One quick look around the room saw many of the other men toying or even outright copulating with their slaves; such things weren’t unheard of when lust, wine, opiates, power and money ran like oil through the cracks of the bricks and the grain of the wood.  
All thoughts, however, screeched to a howling halt when he felt the hand on his thigh.


	4. Chapter 4

The hand on his thigh was warm, and it gave him a reassuring squeeze. He looked down and saw a dark head of tousled hair between his legs, and felt his heart give a painful lurch.  
He inclined his head and hissed a whisper, “Ala-Ali. What are you doi-Oh.”  
The thumb of that warm hand tentatively caressed his traitorously growing bulge before engulfing him through his pants entirely.  
“Hn.”  
He griped the edge of the table, and Kadir laughed, pausing his groping to look over Mozenrath’s way.  
“Well it looks like someone is feeling more friendly.”  
Interested, Akkhar ducked his head to look under the table, in time to see the source of the warm, damp breath ghosting him through his pants.  
Mozenrath’s knuckles clenched, and his hips strained forward. He blessed and cursed the little laugh he felt rather than heard from below the table. He shifted when he felt the tug on his waistband, whether to resist or hurriedly comply he couldn’t quite tell himself, and waited with baited breath.  
He can’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t dare, Mozenrath wouldn’t dream, he wouldn’t he wouldn’t he wouldn’t...  
He let out a throaty groan when a hot stripe was licked up the length of his cock, and Kadir laughed again.  
“Careful, boy”, Bakhir added in amused condemnation when Mozenrath groaned again when another broad caress of Aladdin’s tongue left him weak, “You're starting to sound like one of them.”  
Mozenrath glared hatefully, and was about to launch into a tirade about offense, and dishonor and how dare he, when Aladdin finally, frustratingly slow, began to mouth the head. He reached up a clenched fist and bit down, coughing around any noise.  
He had to get control of himself. He wasn’t a blushing virgin and Aladdin, gods be damned, would never let him live it down if he fell to pieces from a simple blowjob. Then why, why did he want to draw his cloak around them and magic them away to his own personal chambers and savor every teasing second?  
His whole world shrunk to between his thighs as the head of his aching cock was nursed and lavished, and he stuttered in his chair. He went to reach up to Aladdin’s hair to push him down, then cursed in surprise when his thigh was pinched. His hands, of his own accord, jumped to back on top of the table.  
To his side, Akkhar was breathing heavily, and pushed aside the dancer he was so heavily petting a moment ago, who pouted.  
Mozenrath coughed and tried to regain control.  
As if electrified, Akkhar shot up straight, and mumbled.  
“My apologies, Lord Mozenrath, I was simply admiring your boy’s talents. You seem to be enjoying yourself.”  
To respond seemed a miracle beyond his sinful ways but he tried nevertheless as the warm wet heat inched down his cock.  
He paused, breathing hard through his nose, before saying “He is quite talented. I suppose statistically he has to be good at something.” He tried to laugh disdainfully, breathlessly, but it turned into a rather undignified yelp when he felt the graze of teeth in response, a yelp that resolved itself into a moan behind his lips when that hot tongue bathed the area in, if he didn’t know Aladdin better, was an apology.  
Bakhir had his chin propped on his hand, and gazed at Mozenrath through half-lidded eyes.  
“Now now, you’re being unkind, Lord Mozenrath. I had my doubts, but a slave who initiates such attention on their own in worth something.”  
“That is quite a change of tone-” Mozenrath tried, choking when the whole of his cock experienced near-perfect wet suction. He wanted so desperately to watch that dammed, handsome face bob on his cock, but appearances, appearances.  
He coughed and tried again,  
“Quite the change of tone for someone who only moments ago advocating beating him.”  
Bakhir shrugged carelessly, and sipped his wine.  
“Perhaps I was wrong. Attitude is one thing, talent is another.”  
“Hear hear!” Kadir intoned.  
Mozenrath could barely pay attention. He was melting, he was dying – the velveteen heat around him, slick and smooth and perfect, robbed him of his cherished intellect bit by bit. He heard the small slurping sounds and would blast the instruments of this performance to pieces if he had his gauntlet, if only to hear them better. Down his cock that arrogant mouth went, then sucked back up to a head he popped off, teasingly blowing cool air on the tortured tip, before engulfing the whole once more.  
He’d either kill or marry Aladdin, one.  
His nails scratched the table and he tried once more for composure.  
“Attitude in small doses is forgivable..Ah hah…in fact, it might make the slave himself…Unh, gah…more entertaining.”  
What was it said? Amorous men are stupid men.  
“Yes, it does seem you enjoy a smart mouth.” Bakhir said with a smirk.  
A smart mouth. A clever mouth. A blessed mouth. A scalding, undoing, omnipotent, cursed mouth.  
The hand on top of his clenched first startled him, so concentrated was he on feeling every bob, every suck, ever lick and kiss, and God, he truly might be undone.  
He looked up into the flushed and repellant face of Akkhar, whose meaty hand covered his own elegant one. His eyes were bright with greed and lust, and his hot breath lashed Mozenrath’s face as he whispered.  
“Tell me, please Lord Mozenrath, how is he?”  
Mozenrath’s ego begged for so many things – to throw off Akkhar in disgust, to respond critically, to push Aladdin off and run to his citadel and stay there until his bones turned to dust.  
None of it. None of it was possible with the mouth around him giving love and attention to every inch of his throbbing cock, which ached for and resisted release, lest the pleasure end.  
“Wonderful.” He gasped as the head of his cock hit the back of Aladdin’s throat.  
Akkhar smiled and Mozenrath lowered his head to the table, folding around the talent in his lap, onlookers be damned, he’d kill them later, because Aladdin swallowed around his length as his hands massaged his balls and he unthreaded, feeling for one moment as if, as he spilled into that willing mouth, that the only magic that ever mattered flooded his body and he became light.  
He panted stupidly to not one, but two of his companion’s applause, which covered the whispered.  
“I guess you couldn’t handle it, after all, Moze.”


End file.
